The idea for this is a few parts The Little Matchstick Girl, a few parts a tumblr post about someone throwing a birthday party for a caterpillar they found outside, and a few parts the reaches of my imagination. You might need a few tissues.
The wind stung sharply as Scorpius peeked his head out of the alcove, and the small action seemed to invite it in. Sending the snow on the ground this way and that, it changed direction and filled the little stone area where he was hiding. He drew his arms tighter to his body and looked at the dark houses sparsely lining the street. No one would open their door to him, he knew, and he couldn't go home, that place so full of anger. It wasn't safe. He hoped this particular fight would end soon and Dad would come find him. He hadn't, the last few times, and Scorpius had paced in the snow for hours until daylight, waiting.
He couldn't pace this time, the wind that had sprung up confined him here, this little space. It was so cold out tonight, it felt like it was breaking into his bones.
Drawing his legs closer to his chest, he hunched, set his nose between his knees and closed his eyes. He didn't know the warming charm and the cold would have made it nearly useless anyway, such little warmth to draw on. Maybe, maybe he could think warm thoughts.
It didn't feel like Christmas had just passed, but then again, it hadn't in such a long time, since he was really little. And even those memories were tainted with the retrospection of anger he could now see, an undercurrent in the air between his parents, and everyone. Hatred he could almost taste.
The wind blew a little harsher against his numb cheeks and he opened his eyes as something thudded against one. He stared hazily at the sharp-edged metal now resting beside him, he raised a hand to his face. His fingertips came away stained.
No matter. The cold would freeze the wound.
He closed his eyes. Warm thoughts. Like fire, like...
Candles.
The girl was younger than him, maybe, but not by much if she was, bound up warm with a scarf around her neck and hat jammed over her ears. Her coat was thicker than his.
"You've been pacing for hours. I've been watching you."
He stared at her as snowflakes lighted on the knitted hat, bright against the dark yarn.
"I'm waiting for my dad," he finally said.
"If he's much longer, you can stand in the doorway. My dad won't mind."
And she smiled a beautiful smile that went deep into his chest, feeling like the warmth of a candle flame.
His eyes opened suddenly at a sound, and he was surprised to find his lashes were trying to freeze together. He could feel the warmth of her smile, in his fingers and feet and spreading up his wrists and ankles. He looked up hopefully.
The moving shape was much too small to even be human. Disappointed, he closed his eyes and drew the memory back to him.
She went back to a house and he stayed under his lamppost and stared at her bootprints. They slowly filled with snow. He paced in his circle and breathed on his hands, rubbing them, trying to warm them. It worked, a bit. Then the cold seeped back and he stopped. The argument, the fight after with its dangerous hexes, it must have been done now. Where was Dad?
He looked up at the sky, a lump in his throat. Dad never forgot. Until just recently, he always came looking, an arm wrapping around his shoulder, a tired light in his eyes as they found a late night place that wouldn't refuse them service.
Scorpius looked down, followed the little depressions in the snow up to the door and sat on the stoop, pressed against the warmth of the doorframe. Staring up at the window, he could see the flickering shadows of a dying fire. A dark shape loomed across it.
The door opened.
She looked down at him with that candle smile. "It's the twenty-third now, midnight was only a quarter of an hour ago."
At a loss of words, his first thought became words in the air. "It's my birthday."
"You were born just before Christmas?"
He looked down at the snow. "Y-yeah..."
"Lucky! Do you get extra presents?"
"I-I don't know. I just get everything on Christmas. Did, anyway."
"You don't have Christmas?" She sounded confused.
"Yeah. Nobody cares. They're more focused on winning the next argument. I get a few things I need and some money."
"Not even a cake?" Now sad.
"No. I... I've never had one, as far as I can remember."
She gave a choked sound and crouched, hugging him.
She was warm, her head nestled against his neck, arms around his shoulders. Surprised, he didn't move, and stared at her, pixie haircut in the edge of his sight.
Then she suddenly stood up. "Sorry about that... Just a minute." She stepped back and the door closed. But the warmth of her home and her skin lingered against his and he smiled to himself.
This time, he opened his eyes expecting to see her, struggling to open his eyes. The warmth was sliding into his chest now, and when he opened his eyes to a windy world and no light to see, it faded back.
His body hurt to move, feeling locked by imagined ice, so he didn't try. The dark shape he had seen was sitting at his feet now, a cat with thick fur and golden eyes, the snow coating it. It limped into the little space between him and the wall. He couldn't feel the paw it placed on his arm, but it looked up at him, and it seemed like a comforting gesture.
He smiled back, though it hurt, and settled back, protecting his little companion from the wind with his body. He couldn't really feel the wind, but he knew it was there, strands of hair crossing his vision.
Scorpius closed his eyes.
She opened the wooden door again in moments, holding something in her hands. She was also wearing her coat and boots. Closing the door, she sat with him on the stood. "I couldn't find any matches for candles, but here." She handed him a slice of cake.
It was still warm, and so felt almost burning to his fingertips. He stared at her. She was so generous, to a stranger on the street. He closed his eyes as the lump became tears, and picked up the little fork, slowly savoring each bite. It was rich, light, the icing practically melting on his tongue. When it was gone, he held the plate a little longer, hot tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. "Thank you," he finally choked out.
She smiled at him, the candle smile, and pulled out a real one, a little tea-candle in the palm of her hand. "You're welcome."
And the candle smile became an our-secret smile as she touched her first finger to its wick. It lit.
He returned the smile and huddled close to her, their cupped hands protecting the flame from the wind and snow.
"Happy birthday, stranger," she whispered. The light reflected off her face, her eyes. Her skin almost seemed to glow. Their breath mingled and fogged in the air, candle warmth evaporating it. He tilted his head back a moment to smile at the sky.
It was so warm here, almost like winter had abandoned this little space to let them have a little place to themselves.
So warm...
It filled his body as the memory began to fade, edges sliding away.
But the candle flame, and her smile, lingered.
He smiled back.
The cat, curled close to the human youngling, looked up as his head fell back against the wall behind with a smile. It had come out to comfort him in this exact moment. Laying its head on his chest, he waited, as the wind finally began to die.